


heartbeats get in the way

by icarusinflight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Feelings, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Movie Dates, Oral Sex, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: “Whatever you want,” Pansy says, and Ginny wants to bang her head against the wall.What do you want?Ginny wants to know. Anddo you want what I do?
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 22
Kudos: 64
Collections: Femmefest 2020





	heartbeats get in the way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melacka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melacka/gifts).



> thank you ever so much to the mods for running this, and their eternal patience with me.
> 
> thank you to my team of support crew, I needed you all more than ever for this creation. what a time!
> 
> to Melacka, you gave me some amazing ideas to work with, and I hope this hits your buttons!
> 
> this is told a little non-linear. It starts in the present and then goes back to the start, then we rejoin again. past scenes will be shown with a precursor statement about.. something about that time.

“Pans,” Ginny gasps out, arching her back, and pushing her body further into Pansy’s grip.

Ginny doesn’t have to look to see the self-satisfied grin on Pansy’s face. She imagines she can feel it pressing into the flesh of her breast as Pansy works mouth against the sensitive skin beneath the swell of her breast. There might be a mark come the morning — Pansy likes to leave marks on her body. Never anywhere visible, always places only Pansy would see,:on her ribs, against her thighs, the side of her breast. No one but Pansy has ever left marks on her body like this. Ginny loves them. She loves to see them in the mirror, to press her fingers against them, feel the ache, and imagine she can still feel the imprint of Pansy’s lips, her teeth, against her skin.

Pansy sets her teeth against the skin again, and Ginny gasps wordless noises this time. All thoughts of anything other than Pansy, and her current actionsrush from Ginny's head.

“Please,” Ginny gasps, trying to thrust her hips up into Pansy, but Pansy has her legs swung over Ginny's, giving her no relief for the pressure building between her legs and locking her to the bed.

Pansy has one hand on her breast, the other gripping at her rib, grasping so tight Ginny can feel her skin being pulled at. Ginny’s hands find their way to Pansy’s thighs, holding onto Pansy.

Pansy gets like this sometimes, an edge coming out around her. It’s almost like a determination that comes over her, taking control, and Ginny knows there’ll be no moving her on until she’s ready. Ginny can feel her whole body pulsing with want, but she can’t imagine wanting anything more than letting Pansy have her way.

She throws her head back, arching out her body, and lets herself melt into Pansy’s touches. Pansy makes her way down agonisingly slow, lips and teeth and tongue tracing the wandering path from breast down, past her belly button and the jut of her hip bone. When she finally gets to the edge of Ginny’s underwear, fingers tracing at the line of the plain black material Ginny thinks she’s about to bust out of her skin. Her breath is coming fast and she’s practically throbbing, skin feeling hypersensitive everywhere Pansy touches. Pansy’s fingers pause, lips leaving her skin for the first time since she stripped Ginny from her top and bra, what feels like hours ago.

Ginny can feel the wisps of her breath, cooling against the moisture she’s left behind. It feels like it takes all her energy, harder than the final sprint when she’s approaching the finish line, but she moves her head to look down at Pansy, opening her eyes.

Pansy's lips are swollen, the lipstick she’d been wearing worn away. Ginny can see the glossy red marks on her own skin, signs of where she’ll have bruises tomorrow. Pansy’s been thorough. Ginny’s probably wearing Pansy's lipstick across her lips, too. But Ginny can't find it in her to care.

Pansy is waiting, fingertips resting on the material, but going no further. Ginny knows she won’t go further until she says that magic word.

“Please,” Ginny says. Giving permission, and begging for more. 

Pansy shuffles down, sliding Ginny’s underwear off as she goes. She releases Ginny’s legs, and once she’s slid her underwear off, she pushes them up and out, bringing her heels up to rest against the bed and sliding easily between them.

Ginny holds her breath, feeling on display for Pansy. She’s passed being insecure around Pansy now, and even if she was, the open _want_ written on Pansy’s face is enough for her. 

Pansy 's gaze rakes over her. Just the sight makes Ginny’s stomach clench. She’s tense, waiting for Pansy’s touch. When Pansy finally does, it’s only her thigh, Pansy’s hand sliding up open palmed; but it’s enough to force a loud moan from Ginny's lips, to have her throwing her head back again. Pansy’s other arm wraps around Ginny’s thigh, holding her side, and Pansy leans into her leg. Ginny knows without looking that Pansy’s watching as her hand traces the way up Ginny’s leg until finally — _finally —_ her fingers approach the crease of her hip.

The first touch is only a brush of a thumb, pressing lightly against the skin just above the hood of her clit. It still sends a flame running through Ginny, and she sucks in her breath sharply. Pansy traces her thumb down, lightly over her clit, before tracing around her lips. Ginny can feel the wetness there, feel it leaking out of her, and _Circe_ she needs Pansy’s touch. She tries to moan out a _please_. It must be enough, because Pansy moves, fingers finally breaching her.

Ginny is wet enough that Pansy’s two fingers slide easily inside of her, and Ginny moans at the feeling of them filling her. There’s nothing quite like Pansy inside of her, Ginny’s never been able to make her own feel nearly as good — and not for lack of trying. There’s a surety to her fingers, the firm way they press inside her, drawing Ginny’s pleasure from within.

_Circe_ , Pansy’s mouth. Even just mouthing against the junction of her hip. And who would have thought _that_ was a sensitive spot for Ginny? It’s like Pansy can find every one of her spots, or more likely, it’s just _Pansy_ making all of Ginny light up with her practised touch. Pansy’s thumb rubs against her clit, firmer this time, and Ginny’s pleasure builds. It starts in her stomach, but it feels like it’s running through her, from the heat in her face down to her toes curling in the sheets. Ginny’s thighs twitch, hips trying to thrust, but she can’t; not with the way Pansy’s holding her down, leaning over her leg. When Pansy presses in and sets her teeth in the skin at Ginny’s hip, that’s all it takes before she goes tumbling over, ripples of pleasure running through her as she clenches around Pansy’s fingers and throbs against every point of contact.

Pansy’s thumb is gone immediately, but her fingers remain inside Ginny until Ginny’s ridden out the waves of her orgasm. When Ginny opens her eyes again, looking down at Pansy, she can see the satisfied smile Pansy always has after teasing Ginny’s pleasure out of her.

“Come up here,” Ginny asks, if a little weakly. Pansy obeys, laying her body over Ginny’s as Ginny pulls her in, wrapping her leg around Pansy and sealing their lips in a kiss. 

It’s not the best kiss, not by far. Ginny’s brain is still recuperating from her orgasm, but it’s enough just to feel Pansy against her, to taste Pansy again and feel her body. Her hands roam over Pansy, feeling the bra she’s still wearing, tracing the side of her body until her fingers find the lacy hems of the underwear she’s still wearing. When they break away again, Ginny wants nothing more than to get her hands underneath them.

Ginny pushes up, and Pansy goes, letting Ginny roll them over. 

“Tell me what you want,” Ginny says, as she slides between Pansy’s legs.

“Whatever you want,” Pansy says, just like every time, and Ginny hides her disappointment with a bite to Pansy’s thigh. She bites down on the dejection she feels, too. Ginny wants so many things, things she isn’t sure she’s allowed to want. She wants more than just this — these quick fucks that happen once a week. _What do you want,_ Ginny wants to know, and _do you want what I want?_

* * *

_it starts entirely by chance_

There’s no way Ginny could have predicted it. The tickets were a surprise gift from Harry, handed over with a _I thought you might find them entertaining_. The fact that Ginny went is even more of a surprise to herself.

It seemed like the opposite of anything Ginny would ever want to do. She never liked sitting still. Bill spends all day over his journals, Charlie with his head in the right book. George has always had the dedication to sit still for a cause, and Ron would sit for hours over a chessboard.

But Ginny just wanted to move. If she wasn't flying she was exercising. Books weren't her thing, never have been. Ginny was okay with that. Books could be Luna’s thing, or Hermione’s, and Ginny never wanted a career where she has to spend all day with her head stuck between pages and parchments. For as long as she could remember she’d been looking to the sky, and she’d take an open field over a stuffy room any day.

“Head in the clouds,” Luna had told her once when she’d been staring out the window, physically in the library but mentally out on the Quidditch pitch doing practice runs with the Quaffle tucked under her arm. Ginny had laughed a little and made an attempt to bring her attention back to the task at hand. It was some essay or another that Ginny would put just enough energy in to pass before she could leave the stuffiness of the Library behind her. 

She decided to give it a go because Harry had insisted, pointing out a weekly midday session which ran classic Muggle movies that he thought she’d particularly enjoy. And the first time she’d walked into the movie theatre, cast her gaze around the available seats — so many empty seats to choose from, and Ginny couldn’t work out which was the best — she’d seen a face in the back row that made her pause. It had taken a moment before it clicked, the pieces sliding into place; Ginny knew that nose, had made fun of it in the safety of Gryffindor common room and even in her room with Hermione. Those days, the anger she’d felt towards Slytherins and all their house seemed to stand for had bled over into a nastiness that made her stomach twist in shame.

Pansy looked different from how she remembered: the same black hair — in a sharper bob now; the same nose — though Ginny couldn’t quite remember _what_ she had found so offensive about it. The way Pansy held herself rang familiar, looking completely comfortable while elegantly sitting with the sort of posture that Ginny’s never had, couldn't even begin to comprehend. Ginny had always thrown herself over spaces, curling up in the corner of the lounge with her knees wrapped under herself. There was something about _some_ Slytherins that just make it seem like they’ve never known the distinct pleasure of crumpling down onto furniture and just letting themselves _go._

Ginny must have stood there too long because Pansy’s face tipped up, looking at her still standing in the aisle. Ginny saw the moment Pansy recognised her, lips falling open on an ‘oh’ that if it made any noise Ginny couldn’t hear it over the noise from the screen.

Pansy sat up straighter, and it became so obvious that she _had_ been relaxing.

Pansy reminded Ginny of one of the rabbits she’d come across in the woods, frozen still. She could always see in their eyes all they wanted to do was _run —_ to be _anywhere_ but _here_. She took a deep breath, gathered herself, and took another step to the row before Pansy's. She strode along the seats until she was almost in front of Pansy, and dropped down into the seat.

To the best of her knowledge, no one had seen or heard of Pansy since the trials. The Wizengamot had let her off with a slap on the wrists, and in those days it had seemed so unfair to Ginny that they would just _release_ this girl who had tried to throw Ginny’s then-boyfriend to the Death Eaters. 

There were rumours, of course. Some people said Pansy had left the country, leaving either for America or Australia. There was one rumour about Pansy running away to elope with a Russian Wizard who came from money. Draco had laughed at that one, shaking his head and insisting Pansy would never run away to _get_ married. As far as she was aware, there was no one who actually _knew_ what had happened to Pansy after the war — or no one who would share if they did. She had her suspicions about Draco. He always knew more than he let on.

“I’m not leaving,” Pansy hissed and, oh, Ginny had forgotten that voice. It lacked some of the acid she remembered from back in their school days. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Ginny responded without turning to look. She kept her eyes locked on the screen even though she hardly knew what it was showing. Something with automobiles. “I’m not either.”

And that was it. The movie started. Ginny tried to forget about the former Slytherin behind her shoulder. She tucked her feet underneath her on the seat, and _did not_ think about what Pansy Parkinson behind her would think about her sitting habits. She just let the movie draw her into the safety of its world.

Ginny watched it all, even the names that scrolled after the flash of ‘the end’ on the screen. It was only when the names stopped, the screen went black, and the cinema lit up that Ginny stood, ready to gather her things and leave. All the other few patrons had left, but Pansy was still there, standing up just after Ginny.

Ginny gathered her bottle and the container of popcorn she’d decimated, watching Pansy out of the corner of her eye as she slid her bag on her arm, fingers coming up to trace the material lightly.

“I would understand if you did, but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone you saw me here. I don’t want…” Pansy wasn’t looking at her and Ginny took the opportunity to study her face. Pansy’s lips were pursed and eyebrows furrowed as she stared into the distance of the blank screen. “I would just prefer if you didn’t.”

“Why would I tell anyone?” Ginny responded. That had seemed to be enough. Pansy walked off, her heels loud on the stairs.

Ginny figured that would be it. But when she found Pansy at the same movie session a week later, it had become a bit of a thing. Eventually Ginny decided to take a chance, sliding into Pansy’s row to take a seat beside her.

They didn’t talk about it, but Pansy was there every week in the middle seat of the back row. They never talked about their lives and it took over a month before they exchanged more words than their first interaction. Instead, they talked about the movies they'd watched, and Ginny learned Pansy adored romances — which she wouldn’t have expected — but had little patience for grandiose male leads. Their chats were often lively, sometimes heated, but never boring; and between their conversations and the movie, it became Ginny's favourite part of each week.

* * *

_it changes with dinner_

Ginny, exhausted from her morning workouts and hungry in a way popcorn has done nothing to satisfy, turned to Pansy and asked, “Do you want to grab lunch?”

“It’s a little past lunch time don’t you think?” Pansy asked, raising one of her eyebrows. 

Ginny shrugged. 

“Maybe,” she admitted. The movie had started at one and it’d easily been hours, but Ginny was hungry and she’d nothing but an empty fridge and a plant kept alive solely from Neville’s tea visits waiting for her at home. “But I haven’t eaten yet. We could grab a bite to eat? Do you know if there’s anywhere ‘round here?” 

Pansy bit at her lip. Ginny waited her out and wondered if maybe that was too much, crossing these unacknowledged invisible boundaries they’d set between them. Was this the thing that would break the easy peace they had between them? Maybe wanting more with Pansy — to grab a bite to eat with her, to talk and have a conversation, and maybe even talk about something other than the horrifically bad accent in the movie they had just seen — would be the thing that made it all come tumbling down. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Ginny’s pressed too hard, wanting too much from someone who didn’t have more to give. 

But Ginny _wants,_ and the risk of failure has never stopped her before. She’s dogged and persistent, a skill she’s had to learn through the years. It’s what got her to second broom Chaser.

_Say yes,_ she thought, _please say yes._

Pansy glanced at her wrist, the timepiece that looked more bracelet than watch, and hung loose and elegant from her wrist. “There’s a little wine bar that will be opening soon. They serve food.” Her words inflected up, the not-quite question hanging in the air.

“Lead the way,” Ginny said, with an exaggerated wave of her arm. She'd almost held it out for Pansy as well, before catching herself.

Ginny grinned at her. Pansy’s eyes gave the barest hint of a roll, and she pushed passed Ginny, walking down the stairs. Ginny followed behind her, still grinning.

They stayed until the dinner crowd came in, and then because Ginny wasn't in any rush to leave, they got dinner too.

Dinner and drinks become a party of their weekly — not a date — routine.

* * *

_the rain changes everything_

The first time they had sex was after getting caught in the rain. It wasn’t romantic, but it was cold. They were walking to the bar when it started, the sky growing suspiciously darker as they began their trek from the Cinema to the bar. Before they were halfway to the bar, the heavens opened and rained down on them.

Ginny grabbed Pansy’s wrist and ran for the nearest shelter she could see, a little outcrop in front of a building with the words ‘Jessie’s Curry Kitchen’ and black and white awnings that gave them a bit of shelter from the rain as they leaned against the brick wall.

It was wet and cold and Ginny was soaked, jumper hanging heavily from her torso and jeans sticking to her skin. She laughed. There was something that made her giddy about having to run in the rain, something so simple about water seeping through to her skin. She had begun to shiver, realising the cold had begun to cling to her as easily as the water. It took her a moment to hear over the sound of the rain falling on the awning, that was Pansy laughing too, leaning back against the wall, eyes locked on the sky above and drenched through.

It was the first time Ginny had seen her laugh like that. 

She’d heard it her laugh before in the dark depths of the Cinema when she laughed at something in a movie, and in the bar with a glass of wine at their shared words. But it was something else, the full bodied laugh, and her mouth opening, and Pansy even snorted when she inhaled. Ginny had never seen her looking dishevelled before. She looked a mess, makeup smeared and hair drenched. But Pansy’s eyes crinkled, her nose scrunched up, and she looked ridiculous and somehow still utterly _gorgeous,_ even sodden. Ginny had Pansy’s wrist in her hand, and it seemed the easiest thing to lean in and close the distance between them.

Pansy was still laughing and Ginny felt her head jerk, felt it smack into the brick wall behind her. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Ginny said, pulling away and dropping Pansy’s hand.

Pansy brought her hand up to her skull, fingers slipping underneath the wet strands of hair that hung around her face. 

“A little warning next time Weasley,” Pansy said, wincing a little as her fingers rubbed at the back of her head.

Ginny’s heart felt like it was trying to beat it’s way out of her chest, heavy thumps reverberating through her whole body. “Next time?” 

“If you want.”

Ginny moved slowly, pushing away from the wall to stand in front of Pansy, letting her see Ginny’s actions. It felt like hunting for the snitch and Ginny took in all of Pansy, letting the want show on her face.

Pansy stood taller against the brick wall, not giving an inch to Ginny even as she was soaked through. Pansy’s coat had done little to protect her. Her hair was completely drenched, as wet as Ginny’s own. Ginny placed her hand on Pansy’s cheek, slid the wet strands away from her face and moved her hand to the back of Pansy’s head, fingers bumping against Pansy’s where they rested.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Ginny said, “if you want.”

“Do it,” Pansy said, bringing both her hands to rest on Ginny’s hips, not pulling her closer but resting against the wet material of her jeans.

Ginny surged forward, pressing her lips against Pansy’s and blocking Pansy in against the wall. Ginny’s hand bumps against the bricks, but Ginny doesn’t pay it any mind. It’s a little sting of pain at most and Ginny’s always been the sort to ignore the pain for the target.

It has been a long time coming for Ginny. She can’t remember when the lines blurred, from disliked former schoolmate to willing associate to object of her desires, but there’s something about Pansy, and Ginny’s self aware enough to admit she’s always found her attractive; even if she hadn’t _liked_ her back in their school days. This Pansy though — the one that always brings a spare bottle of water, the one that is sharp with her words of criticism but also of praise to the movies they watch, the one that laughs at Ginny’s jokes and looks at Ginny, _sees her_ now. This Pansy draws her attention like the Snitch.

Ginny puts her everything into the kiss to make up for her fumbling before. Ginny’s not had much pull towards relationships, but she’s had enough tumbles to know how to kiss. She felt the layer of lipstick against her, almost tacky, when Ginny flicked her tongue against Pansy’s lips Pansy opened for her. Pansy tasted salty like popcorn and something else Ginny couldn’t place, maybe just Pansy herself. Ginny’s hand tightened in Pansy’s hair; she moaned into Ginny’s mouth and Ginny drank it in, made a note of the reaction to examine again later.

When they finally pulled apart Pansy's lipstick was smeared, and the hands on Ginny’s hips were holding tight, keeping Ginny close to her body.

“Do you-do you want to get out of here??” Ginny asked. “This seems like a lost cause.” She waved at the rain and gave a nervous laugh, trying to ignore the gravity of what she was asking for. 

“May as well.”

Ginny cast a Disillusionment Charm, and then Apparated them back to her flat. 

Pansy stumbled as they landed, but Ginny held on to her and didn't let her fall. She only released her once Pansy got to her feet, and only then so she could strip off her sopping jacket and hang it by the door. She held out her hand for Pansy’s coat and Pansy stripped out of it with a little difficulty, the wet material sticking to her.

Pansy handed over her coat and Ginny hung it up next to hers. She couldn’t help but marvel for a moment at _Pansy Parkinson_ in her house, Pansy’s coat hung next to hers

“Can you do something about this?” Pansy wiped her hand over her head, catching some of the moisture on her fingers. 

Ginny cast _Tergeo,_ drying off the excess water even if some of the moisture remained. Pansy’s hair still hung damply around her face. Ginny felt her shorter hair plastered to her head in places, likely sticking up in others, but she left it focusing instead on recapturing the momentum and the desire that was still strumming between them. 

Ginny kissed Pansy again as they got to the bedroom, capturing her lips as she pushed her hands under Pansy’s top. Her hands traced Pansy's skin, felt the warmth and softness with her chilly fingers. They broke the kiss, and Ginny pulled away and stripped her own top off, giving Pansy space to remove hers. 

Stripping used to be something that made her feel uncomfortable. Ginny never had the type of body she admired or found attractive in others. _Tomboy,_ people used to call her when she was running around with her brothers. She never dressed girly but she’d grown _comfortable_ with her body, for the most part. She loved the muscles she worked hard to gain, and never wanted to have the same curves or breasts that other women had. But that has never stopped her from feeling insecure, from the voice that piped up occasionally to ask _why would anyone want you?_

Ginny stripped off her top and her jeans. The first time being naked around someone was always a little nerve-wracking. Ginny felt on display. She was wearing a bra at least, more than most days, even if it was one of her old sports bras — comfortable, but worn to the point of stretching out. Ginny watched as Pansy stepped out of her skirt, revealing her own delicate lace underwear, and the old urge to fold her arms and cover herself reignited. _I’m sorry I’m not like other women,_ Ginny sometimes wanted to say, and felt the urge on her tongue as Pansy looked like someone straight out of a lingerie shoot. The words were heavy in her mouth, and although she didn’t say them, didn’t cover herself up, she still felt a little lost and a bit unsure of what she was doing for the first time since they kissed under the shop's awnings.

Perhaps having sensed it, Pansy stepped into Ginny’s space and she brought her hands up to hold Ginny’s face. She took the lead, pressing deep kisses, walking Ginny back to the bed, and pushing her down on it. 

Pansy’s hands rucked up her bra, freeing her breasts and leaving it around her chest as she kissed Ginny’s newly freed skin and made her way down the rest of Ginny’s body. It was rushed, almost desperate, and when Pansy slid Ginny’s legs up to get her underwear off, she didn’t bother removing them completely before she leaned forward. Her hands slid up Ginny’s thighs and Ginny gasped, arching her back and stretching her legs out, uncaring if the material caught on her ankle.

“Lord you’re gorgeous,” Pansy said, eyes raking over Ginny. Ginny felt herself light up, a blush starting on her cheeks but running down to her neck and probably further. “Do you want me to eat you out?”

Ginny’s stomach clenched at the very thought, of _Pansy’s lips_ on her. The way Pansy looked at her like there’s nothing she’d like to do more sent a flush of warmth right to Ginny's stomach. “Fuck yes.”

Pansy’s fingers bit into Ginny's skin as she leaned down to place a kiss just above her clit, soft at first and then firmer, more insistent. Pansy ate her out with enthusiasm and technique that clearly comes from experience, something that Ginny tried not to think about too much for the sour feeling it left in her mouth. She added a finger while mouthing Ginny’s clit, and then another. It wasn't rushed but not slow either, and when Ginny came it was with one hand locked into Pansy’s hair and the other flung over her mouth, biting down on her own arm.

Ginny dragged Pansy up to her, rolling them to their sides and sealing their lips, tasting herself in Pansy’s mouth. She kissed Pansy lazily as her hand traced the path down Pansy’s side, coming to rest at her thigh before moving to grip Pansy’s arse, still covered in the lacy material. Ginny draped a leg over Pansy’s and lazily thrusted their bodies together, swallowing down on the moans Pansy made, drinking them in hungrily until Pansy snapped her lips closed, abruptly cutting them off.

She pushed Pansy onto her back, finally stripping off her lacy bra before sliding between her legs, and Pansy watched her as she moved.

“Tell me what you want,” Ginny said, when she came to rest between Pansy’s legs.

Pansy didn’t, but Ginny used her fingers, mouthed along the cut of her hip as she watched Pansy’s face, her body for a reaction. Ginny worked a _yes there_ out of her, sending a thrill of pleasure through her own body. 

Pansy pulled her up an indeterminate amount of time later. Pansy hadn't come but her breaths were coming rapidly and she was smiling happily, breathing. Ginny was so close to her own orgasm again that all it took was a few thrusts against Pansy’s thigh before she came for the second time that night. 

Pansy might not have told her what she wants, but Ginny was still listening.

* * *

Ginny learns to read Pansy.

Pansy’s responsive. Not with words — the most Ginny every gets is a _yes_ or _please_ — but with her noises and body. Ginny knows the way to flick her tongue to force a groan from Pansy, knows the way to twist her fingers to get Pansy arching her back. Pansy likes to wrap her legs around Ginny when she’s between Pansy’s legs. There aren’t many people Ginny’s been with enough times to learn the effect of her actions, and now that she has she doesn’t want to learn anyone else.

Tonight she’s between Pansy’s thighs, licking her out. Pansy’s legs wrap around Ginny and she arches her back. Ginny can feel the way she’s shaking, her breath racing. She reaches her spare hand around to slide over Pansy’s stomach, feeling the heave and tremble as she trails a path to Pansy’s nipple. When Ginny’s fingers reach their goal she pinches hard and Pansy lets out a high keen which shoots straight to Ginny's core and has her increasing her efforts with her mouth. Ginny pushes two of her fingers in as far as she can, twisting them just the way Pansy likes.

When Pansy comes it’s with a groan, arching further and digging her heels into Ginny’s back. It’s that noise that Ginny adores — that noise that she wants to hear over and over, every day if only Pansy would let her. 

Ginny knows exactly how long to wait, fingers still locked inside Pansy and mouth pressing against her. Then there’s that noise, the little hiccup-breath that means she’s moving into over-sensitivity. Ginny pulls away, crawling up the bed to lay next to Pansy, taking the moment to just appreciate Pansy, to absorb every moment as Pansy lies in her bed, body still heaving. 

Ginny wishes it wasn’t limited. But then there’s the deep inhale and a sigh, the sounds that Ginny knows signals Pansy rolling out of bed, finding her clothes from around the room, and leaving. Hardly pausing to grab her coat from the door, and Ginny will be left alone in her bed that smells of sex and Pansy's perfume.

Which is the last thing Ginny wants.

Pansy gets up, gathering her clothes as she goes. But this time Ginny slides out of bed too, not bothering with her discarded clothes on the floor. Instead she slides on a pair of sleep pants and tugs out one of her Harpies workout tanks that’s long since stopped being suitable for _actual_ workouts. She slides on an old cardie, pushes the baggy sleeves up her arms, and raises her eyes to look at Pansy.

Pansy’s just standing, staring at her — which, Ginny supposes, is fair enough. They don’t usually do this.

The first time Pansy had snuck out while Ginny thought she was going to the loo and Ginny had assumed that was it. A mistake had been made. She’d never see Pansy again. But Pansy had been waiting in her seat the next week, and Pansy had kissed her while they were still at the Cinema. At the time Ginny was happy enough not to question it any further.

There’d been one memorable occasion where Ginny thinks they fell asleep together. It had been after a particularly long movie, followed by dinner and drinks. Pansy had been happier than usual, and they’d shared a bottle of wine. Ginny had irresponsibly Apparated them. The sex had been great and _fun;_ gigglier and almost lazy and just the sort of sex that made Ginny smile, every time she thought about it. Afterwards, Ginny could have sworn she fell asleep with her arm thrown over Pansy. She could almost imagine a brush of lips against hers in the morning, but when she awoke she was alone. Ginny’s never been sure if it was real or a dream brought on by wishful thinking and too much red wine.

They don’t do _this._ Whatever _this_ is.

Pansy’s staring at her still, frozen in her actions and still lacking her shirt. Ginny feels the need to say something, anything. 

“Do you want some tea?”

It’s some sort of panic reaction probably, something that would make her mother proud undoubtedly. Except she is never _ever_ going to tell her mother about this. Ginny’s talked about sex with her mother a total of twice: once for a horribly awkward discussion of where babies come from, and another when she’d started dating Harry that Ginny had thankfully managed to cut off at the head.

It’s for everyone’s sake that Ginny will _never_ willingly go there again.

Ginny’s almost ready to call it a lost cause, throw herself back into the bed as soon as she can without judgement and call it a lesson learned, when Pansy says, “Have you got peppermint?”

“Yeah.” Ginny nods, and when Pansy doesn’t move Ginny realises she’s waiting for Ginny to make the first move. 

“I’ll um, I’ll just make that for you then.” It feels like a question, everything feels uncertain, but Ginny walks out to the kitchen anyway. She thinks she can hear the soft steps of Pansy’s feet behind her, hopes so anyway, but she doesn’t dare look to check. It feels like anything could break the fragile…whatever it is between them.

Ginny sets the tea kettle to boil. She pulls out her own regular tea bags and then leans down to search for the peppermint tea bags she knows she keeps for when Neville swings around. 

_Gotcha,_ her fingers wrap around the familiar box, pulling it out from behind a sugar tin, some herbs she's never used, and a block of chocolate she'd actually forgotten about — she'll come back for that later.

Ginny places the tea bags in the two mugs and grips the edge of the benchtop. _Never watch a kettle boil_ , her mother says, but it’s that or turn around and be face to face with Pansy again. Ginny can see her out of the corner of her eye standing awkwardly by the corner of the bench. 

The tension feels the same as when Ginny first approached Pansy; all the progress they’ve made over the months of movies, months of more than, fading to nothing in the face of an offering of tea. Ginny’s stomach churns. 

“Thanks,” Pansy says, when Ginny hands her the cup of tea, freshly brewed.

The silence stretches out, and Ginny takes a sip from her own mug, buying herself time. It’s too hot and a little weaker than she usually makes it, but she takes another sip — English courage and all that — before placing the cup, on the bench next to her. She leans back against the sink and finally looks at Pansy.

Pansy looks a bit lost, out of place, and even a little confused. Definitely not comfortable, which means Ginny’s doing this all wrong. 

“Sorry,” Ginny says, though she’s not sure what for. For making Pansy feel out of sorts? For dragging her down here? For the fact Pansy looks cold without the usual layer of jacket? Or even the tea? It's probably a bit shit if her own is anything to go by. “I just wanted to- I thought it might be nice to chat.” Ginny runs her hands through her short hair, and then down over her cheeks. She wants to cross her arms, but doesn’t and instead puts them on the bench behind her. “About us,” she adds.

“What about?” Pansy asks. Her voice is clipped and Ginny knows she’s setting this off on the wrong foot already. 

She’s thought over having this chat more times than she can count, but she’s never thought about _what she was going to say._ It was a flaw in her game plan. Gwenog would be so disappointed. 

“What do you want from this?” Ginny asks, the words tumbling out of her mouth entirely without her permission. 

Pansy sucks in a breath. Her hands are wrapped tightly against the cup, which can’t be comfortable given the heat. Ginny wants to take it out of her hands, to take them in her own. She keeps her hands locked on the bench instead, fingers gripping tight against the hard surface.

The uncomfortable silence stretches out again. It’s reminiscent of the moment when she’s caught the Quaffle and is aiming for the goals. Everything slows down, and becomes this make-it or break-it moment. She needs to see it soar through or fall away as another opportunity missed. 

Ginny’s never been one to hold back though. As the saying goes, _a Quaffle held scores nothing._

“I enjoy this. With you. I like what we have,” Ginny says, because Pansy needs to know that. She’s not sure she’s ever said it before. “I enjoy seeing movies with you. It’s more fun with you. I just...thought maybe we could have more.” Ginny takes a deep breath, holds it for the throw. “I want more. And if you don’t want that, then just say so, but…you should know, I think. That I want more.”

“How can you want more?” Pansy asks. “You hardly know me. We see each other once a week for a movie and a fuck. That’s all.”

“I know that,” Ginny says. “I might not know everything about you. But I do know you. And what I see makes me want to know more. I want to know everything about you. What you do, what makes you happy, just...I want to know more.”

The moment holds, and Pansy doesn’t move. She blows out a deep breath on the tea in her hands. Ginny thinks about pulling it away and setting it on the bench, making Pansy look at her. But that’s not fair, and Ginny of all people knows these chats can be difficult sometimes. 

Ginny takes a deep breath, then another. She feels like she’s putting it all on the line, but that’s just who she is. She’s fucked around before, but once she wants something she does everything she can to make it happen. Even if it means putting herself on the line. Even if it means there’s a possibility she won’t win. Maybe especially then.

“I want more with you. I want you to come back to bed with me, right now, if you want. I want you to stay the night. I want to go out to breakfast with you tomorrow, to get your number, or your address, to see your house and to see _you_ more often than once a week.” Ginny takes a deep breath, “What do you want?”

“You don’t want that,” Pansy insists. “I’m not a part of this,” Pansy waves her hand around, taking in the room, or them, or something else that Ginny’s isn’t seeing.

“How about you stop trying to tell me what I want,” Ginny says softly, “and tell me what you want.”

Pansy takes a deep breath, lets it out. She drinks a mouthful of her tea before placing it down on the bench beside her. When she looks up at Ginny, her dark eyes look almost red rimmed. Ginny wants to take her in her arms, but she waits.

“I want to come back to bed.”

Ginny leans forward, capturing Pansy in a crushing hug that sends Pansy flailing backwards before her hands come up to wrap over Ginny’s shoulders. Without her usual heels, Pansy’s just a touch shorter than her, something Ginny’s never really got to appreciate outside of the bedroom. The difference sends a thrill through her as she crashes their lips together. 

She makes a mess of it — too rushed, excited — and she can’t break the smile to kiss Pansy properly, but it’s perfect just the way it is. 

It’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> song title from [The Trouble With Us by Chet Faker, Marcus Marr](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAd--mEjcco) which had the perfect lyric of:  
>  _You let me under your dress_  
>  _But you won’t show me your heart_


End file.
